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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941837">Hidden churches, canal houses, and cake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/redacted_pdf/pseuds/redacted_pdf'>redacted_pdf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Don't hate me for it, Gen, Just Friendship, No Romance, Post-Movie, and nerdy stuff :))), booker banishment travels!, mentions of Andy's mortality and upcoming death though, y'all i just love one depressed french disaster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:07:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941837</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/redacted_pdf/pseuds/redacted_pdf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the immortal family exiles him for one-hundred years, Booker decides to travel around Europe for a bit. Starting in Amsterdam. Once there, he takes a trip down memory lane, visits a few of his favorite places and makes a friend.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hidden churches, canal houses, and cake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey y'all! So, after years i've finally decided to actually post one of my scribbles. Also, i've had this oneshot ready to go for months now, so i figured it's time. I'm not a native English speaker, so i'm sorry for any grammatical errors i've made. Wrote this during our second lockdown because i miss my favorite places in the city, and because i can't infodump on classmates anymore.<br/>ANYWAY, enjoy!</p><p>Also, also: if this proofs to be a success i might make a 'the immortal family travels to Amsterdam throughout the ages' collection, because i've gotta use my major somehow. :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>The one in which Booker goes to Amsterdam and makes a friend.</strong>
</p><p>The place was empty, Booker was the only one present. Though, it didn't surprise him. It was a tuesday after all. Not exactly a day on which most people would visit a museum.</p><p>Booker had made his way to the upper floor. First climbing the many stairs of the canal house to get to the attic, then climbing the two stairs up to the highest balcony. Once there, he took his usual place in the middle of the balcony, leaning onto the balustrade directly in front of the small altar. It was located on the other side of the small attic, on the main floor. It had always amused him how nearly everything in this place was painted purple, having always wondered why they would paint the balustrades and balconies such a prominent color. It was an unconventional color, that was certain, but it actually didn’t look bad. And the more he visited, the more he started to like it.</p><p>It was a curious place; this hidden church in the attic of a normal seventeenth century canal house in the middle of the city. With a curious history to it. Booker had to admit he wasn’t exactly a history buff, never had been. Being over two hundred years old and having lived through quite some historic moments himself didn’t change that fact. He knew about what he had lived through, that was true. But the history from before he was born? That’s kind of fuzzy. Still, weirdly enough, he knew quite a bit about this little church and the history surrounding it.</p><p>Most of what you see of Amsterdam nowadays stems from the seventeenth century, Holland’s Golden Age. Even though the city has its roots as early as the Early Dark Ages, the city really took off in the seventeenth century. After the Eighty-Year War with Spain, Holland had lost its trading centre, which had always been Antwerp. Because the Southern-Netherlands, modern day Belgium, stayed under Spanish rule. Needing a new commerce centre of their own Holland’s capital, Amsterdam, being a harbor-city where trading was already happening, grew and flourished. The canals as we know them today were built upon and vacant spots soon became the typical canal houses. <em>Well</em>, Booker thought, <em>the rich and wealthy parts and population of the city flourished. Poverty is a thing of all ages, even golden ones.</em></p><p>One of the main pressure points during the Eighty-Year War with Spain was religion, besides from the many political reasons of course. Holland, being a client state of catholic Spain had slowly converted itself to Protestantism. After the war Amsterdam went from a Catholic to a Protestant city, making other religions in the city be ‘tolerated’. Which basically meant ‘as long as it’s not obvious and we don’t see you do it, you can practice your religion’. Imagine a kinda ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy but for religion. Booker caught himself smiling stupidly to himself at this comparison. <em>History does repeat itself, who knew?</em></p><p>Anyway, the new don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy in the city meant that catholics weren’t allowed to publicly practice their religion anymore, and all churches got either converted and stripped or closed. The Dutch called it ‘De Beeldenstorm’, also known as iconoclasm. The catholics had no other option than to retreat into hidden churches: churches tucked away into the spare rooms and attics of canal houses or storage buildings on the docks. Which finally brings us to this particular place.</p><p>The first time Booker had stumbled onto this place had been an accident, really. He accidentally kinda fell through the street-side window during a mission back in the seventies. The exact same window which was behind him right now. He looked back over his shoulder at it and smiled as the memory of Andy cursing her lungs out came back to him. Much to his surprise, he hadn’t fallen into the dusty old attic of a regular home. When he scrambled onto his feet and looked around he saw an honest to god Catholic church, but small. Much, much smaller. And attic-shaped, if you could call it that. The strange place got a hold of Booker’s curiosity and he returned to it after the mission. Since then, whenever he was in Amsterdam, he’d visit this curious little cathedral, with it’s awfully hideous purple tone.</p><p>Booker loved coming here. To ponder, to think, to forget, but sometimes, also to remember.</p><p>Whether he was religious Booker didn’t know, not for sure at least. Sure enough, like most people born before the twentieth century he’d been raised religious, in his case French-Catholic. Despite being raised catholic he could count on one hand the times he’d been to mass. Between living through <em>La Révolution</em>, plainly trying to survive it’s aftermath, starting a family and joining Napoleon’s army to avoid prison, he’d somehow missed the time to go to church, as had his parents before him. But Booker knew for sure he was Parisian, and weirdly proud of it too. <em>Though</em>, he supposes, <em> that comes with being a Parisian.</em> A revolutionary Parisian. Which makes his love for this foreign city and it’s attic-church so peculiar.</p><p>Booker had taken the biggest detour from the safehouse to this place that was possible. He’s pretty sure Amsterdammers, the locals, would’ve called him insane for taking such a detour, but it was his chance to re-discover the city. Explore it. He knew the way, he’d been in Amsterdam often enough to know where he was and where to head to at any time. And much to his expectancy, that was still the case today. He was pleasantly surprised at this city’s acceptance for changing for the better, but at the same time it was also reluctant to change. Some places of the city still looked the exact same as they had done back in the seventies. Not only parts of the city’s street view stayed the same. Booker had found his favorite recordstore -in the world- still existing and very much buzzing with activity. The store, <em>Concerto</em>, halfway into the Utrechtsestraat had been there for as long as Booker could remember. He actually wasn’t sure when the store was founded, but back in the seventies he was a regular customer. His prized collection of vinyls and vinyl player back in the safehouse proved as much. Booker made the mental note to go back and dive into the racks and racks of vinyls some other day.</p><p>-</p><p>Much to his surprise a girl appears on the main floor of the attic, coming from underneath him. <em>Well, I guess, a young woman would be more accurate. She looks about Nile's age, a bit younger.</em> Booker observes the girl as she walks around the main floor, towards the altar and then back. On her way back to where she entered she notices Booker leaning onto the balustrade and makes her way to the stairs. He knows she's joining him. Normally he'd find that very annoying, but today it's different. For some reason, he’s not sure why. He stays put, shooting her a small smile as she walks up to him. She takes her place besides him, also leaning onto the balustrade.</p><p><em>"'Morgen"</em>, the girl smiles politely, softly breaking the silence in the building.<br/>
<em>"Bonjour"</em>, his answer is just as soft and, he hopes, just as polite.<br/>
"Oh, you're a tourist?", she asks, switching to English with ease, like she doesn't have to think about it at all. It still amazes Booker, how English has become modern day's <em>lingua franca</em>. Out of all languages, it had to be English.<br/>
Booker smiles and nods.<br/>
"Yes. And no. I visit Amsterdam often enough to not exactly be a tourist anymore. But I'm not a native." He answered her in Dutch, or well, his version of it. He knew that his answer, together with his French initial greeting and the fact that he, for most Dutch people, sounded Belgian, would bring this girl to the same conclusion. He didn't blame her. He did sound Belgian, and it made sense. And honestly, there are worse things to be called. Booker liked the Belgians.</p><p>"Ah, that makes a lot more sense", the girl chuckled. "This usually isn't a place where you'd find tourists hanging around. Which is both a curse and a blessing. The museum could use some more visitors, but it makes for a nice place to kinda… pull yourself together? I guess you could describe it like that. Like the world stopped spinning for a while to give you time to think", she smiled as she spoke. It was a nice smile, though, Booker noticed, it had a tinge of sadness.<br/>
Booker hummed in agreement, slowly bobbing his head up and down.</p><p>They mutually and easily settled into a comfortable silence. Out of the corner of his eyes Booker observed the girl next to him. She had dyed hair, but it was dyed a natural shade of red. It suited her, it really did. She had dark, brown eyes. Her eyes reminded him of Joe's, they shared the same kind of depth in them, and despite having dark eyes, they shone, brightly and honestly. Just like Joe's. <em>I wonder if she's an artist.</em></p><p>"Do you want to know a fun fact about this place?", she broke his train of thoughts quietly, but spoke with clarity.<br/>
"Sure, go crazy. I'm very curious", Booker smiled, he could tell it was a fond-looking smile.<br/>
"Alright, so, do you see the two marble pillars on either side of the altar?", she spoke while pointing. She didn't wait for Booker to hum in confirmation.<br/>
"Those are actually fake. Like, obviously, the floor could never handle the weight of actual marble. So they're wooden. But they're also hollow. Now, the left one. You can actually open it, the curator once showed me. Inside it, there is a fold-up pulpit, cutest little thing. Very ornate, but also very cleverly made. Truly an invention for such a small church like this, and a secret one at that."<br/>
"How come you know this?", Booker asked, smiling once again fondly at her. While she had been explaining, he had turned his upper body towards her, properly looking at her. The girl smiled at his question and reached into her back pocket. She pulled out a pair of white, velvet gloves.<br/>
"I'm a Cultural Heritage student. I was here to conduct research on an object in the exhibit downstairs for my thesis. I thrive knowing these kinds of, what I call, history-trinkets. It's stupid, and very nerdy", she looked down at the gloves in her hands, a small, sad smile on her face. It nearly broke Booker's heart in two. <em>Forever the family man</em>, I suppose.<em> I can never not bond with kids, or almost adults in this case.</em><br/>
"It's not at all stupid. Very interesting actually. And, now that I know about this knowledge of yours. I have a question for you."<br/>
"Alright. Shoot. Now I'm the curious one."<br/>
"How come this whole place is so horribly purple?", Booker gestured around them with a smile.<br/>
"Well, actually, I know that", the girl chuckled with a nod, "So, materialistic research, done a few years back, has shown that the place has been painted over a couple of times. I believe the original color was a dark green, but I'm not sure. This current color is the same as what it had been in the nineteenth century. Which was the last time the place had been used for church-purposes. When catholicism became acceptable again in the city and churchgoers could practice freely, they built the cathedral two streets down. And this place closed its doors. So, the curators decided to go back to that color, to show that last time period of usage more correctly."<br/>
Booker was silent for a while, processing the information.</p><p>"So, you're telling me", he eventually spoke, "that this color is not only intentional. But it's the second time they intentionally decided on this color?" The girl laughed softly and nodded.<br/>
"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying."<br/>
"That's… wow, okay", Booker chuckles, "But thank you, for sharing your knowledge and skill with me. What's your name?"<br/>
"Hanneke. And yours?"<br/>
"Sebastién, but you can call me Booker."</p><p>-</p><p>"So, Booker, what's your next stop?", Hanneke asked him when they exited the building.<br/>
They had spent hours together in the museum. Hanneke pretty much gave him a private tour, being obviously very happy to share her knowledge with someone. Someone who actually listens to her and is interested in what she's saying. Booker could tell she's passionate about what she's doing, and that brought joy to his heart. <em>Another kid that found her own way in life. Never a sight that'll bore me.</em><br/>
A good portion of the day had passed when they finally stepped outside, but not a second of it was wasted in his eyes.</p><p>"Well, actually, as an Amsterdammer you could maybe help me with that. Is <em>De Drie Graefjes</em> still in business? You know, the cake place?", he asked her while looking down the buzzing canal-street.<br/>
"Oh yes, definitely", Hanneke smiled brightly and her eyes twinkled a little, "They're still in their original building. In the alley behind de Nieuwe Kerk on the corner of de Dam."<br/>
"Perfect. Are you interested in joining me?"</p><p>She had agreed. Together they roamed the streets of Amsterdam, heading to this one very specific café. Booker loved how he didn't have to explain to Hanneke why he wanted to go to this specific place. Every Amsterdam-local knew about this place, and agreed it had the best cake in the world.<br/>
Surprisingly, Andy agreed with them. Andy, the only person on the planet who has had absolutely every dessert or sweet flavoured dish on the planet in every decade possible. Her absolute weakness was baklava, the team made bets about her love for baklava, but her second favorite? The traditional cake from <em>De Drie Graefjes</em>, without a doubt. If you asked her she'd blurt the name out without even a second of hesitation.</p><p>The second Booker had entered the city he had decided on it. He'd go eat cake at <em>De Drie Graefjes</em>. A slice of Andy's favorite. To commemorate her, to grief for her upcoming death. Statistically speaking, it was very unlikely they'd see each other again. Andy was mortal now, and even with today's medical standard, turning one hundred was scarce. With a bit of luck, she had sixty years before her. If she grew old at all.<br/>
This, eating her second favorite dish on the planet, was gonna be his goodbye to her. Him raising his glass to her, to her life. So to speak, because what he would actually be raising was a fork.</p><p>Hanneke, having already proved herself to be a very smart girl, now also proved she could read situations well. After they had sat themselves on the terrace outside the café and their cakes and coffee had been served by the waitress, their conversation had stalled. Once again growing into a mutual and comfortable silence. She had sensed this was a moment for Booker. That Booker needed. And so, when the sun broke through the clouds, she turned her chair and indulged into cake, coffee and the warm sun shining on her face. And Booker joined her, eyes closed, enjoying the sun, the cake and the coffee. While silently reminiscing on two hundred years of knowing Andy, silently raising his fork to her with every bite he took.</p><p>"<em>Dus</em>", Hanneke said softly long after they had finished their cakes and the sun had hidden itself behind the clouds again, "do you like music, Booker?"<br/>
Booker smiled to himself and nodded, not opening his still shut eyes to look at Hanneke.<br/>
‘’Fancy a visit to <em>Concerto</em>?’’<br/>
<br/>
<em>I like this girl.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! For anyone's who's put up with(and maybe even enjoyed?) my disguised lecture. Here's some more information about the places Booker goes to in Amsterdam:<br/>The museum Hanneke and Booker are visiting is Ons’ Lieve Heer Op Solder (Our Good Lord In The Attic). The church is literally located in the attic of a sixteenth-century canal house in downtown Amsterdam. The building was originally built for a merchant and his family and used as their work and living space. After the Alteration of Amsterdam in 1578, where the catholic city government was deposed in favor of a protestant one, all catholic churches were forced to close their doors. No public display of faith was allowed. And thus the catholics hid their churches away, in attics like these. The authorities in the city turned a blind eye, showing the characteristic ‘tolerance’ of religion for the era. After the nineteenth century freedom of religion was introduced in the country, and city, due to political changes.<br/>For more information about Op Solder, the church and museum, see: https://opsolder.nl/.<br/>The information Hanneke tells Booker about the hidden pulpit and the purple color scheme cannot be found on the website. This information was told to me by one of the conservators while on a study and research related visit. It’s a ‘history-trinket’ I have never forgotten since then and I thought I’d share it with y’all.<br/>And for people interested in Concerto. The record store opened its doors in 1955 and is still located in the same building! Here’s the link for anyone who’s interested: https://concerto.amsterdam/home/.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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